Marella didn’t visit. I wondered if she still had plans for me, or whether she’d lost interest, perhaps deciding my injuries meant that I wasn’t as strong as she’d hoped.
Finally, after the prescribed week, the healer was satisfied with my progress and declared me fit for regular activity. Within minutes of her departure, a guard clumped into the room.
“Do you never knock?” I asked stiffly, putting down one of the thick history books.
He gave me a sour look. “You are to join the king for dinner.”
I was taken again to bathe and dress, with help from Doreena. This time, my dress was robin’s egg blue with white ribbons that crisscrossed under my breasts and at my waist. Elaborate filigree earrings with blue stones hung from my ears. My hair curled in ringlets at the ends, left loose down my back. Doreena spread something waxy on my lips to make them shine.
“You look lovely,” Doreena said. “The king is in danger tonight.”
“What do you mean?” I asked sharply.
“Of falling in love with you when you look like that.”
I shuddered. “Bite your tongue.”
Her head tilted slightly. “It wouldn’t be the first time a Frostblood king fell in love with a Fireblood, you know.”
Her words reminded me of a conversation with Arcus the night we’d sat side by side under a crescent moon, his profile barely visible in the fading light, his cloak billowing in the wind, his eye glinting in the starlight whenever he looked at me. It had been the first time he’d trusted me enough to tell me about his past. He’d also told me about the Frost King who had loved a Fireblood lady. The memory brought a little flutter in my stomach.
“I’ve heard the story of the Fireblood who became queen. Did the people accept her?”
“Well…” Her eyes flicked to mine, then away. “Actually, it ended tragically. The queen was murdered. It’s said that a noblewoman who loved the king was jealous and plotted the queen’s death. She died on their first anniversary.”
A shiver traced my spine. “What a terrible story.”
She nodded thoughtfully, a crease between her brows. “Affairs between fire and frost rarely end well.”
I stood still while she finished with my hair, but couldn’t help dwelling on the fate of the poor Fireblood queen.
A few minutes later, the guards deposited me in the dining room. Candlelight bounced off the icy chandelier and fluttered against the frost-tricked walls. The smell of roasted meat and spices filled the air.
This time, there were no richly gowned women, no courtiers, only the king at the head of the table, his hair gilded by candlelight. My gaze went to the chair where the captain had sat the last time I’d been in this room. I’d sat just two seats over, wishing he were dead. Now he was, and he’d died by my hand.
The king was dressed in black, the color so stark against his pale skin and hair that I was reminded of the moments in the arena when the world had turned black and white. But the candles were still gold, the walls tinged with blue. I took a deep breath and blotted out the memory.
Once again, the king motioned to the chair next to him. I walked toward him slowly, heart pounding in my ears, and sat on the white fur.
He looked handsome and austere. My hands trembled in my lap. The last time I had sat here, he had lied to me about the monks. I had an impulse to leap forward and take him by the throat. Or to burn him where he sat. But even away from the throne he radiated power, and he’d demonstrated that in the arena. My fire had no chance against him.
He regarded me steadily, his lips showing slight amusement but his eyes narrowed. I was struck by the strangeness of his eyes, mostly black with just a rim of deep blue around the edges.
“You look even lovelier tonight, Ruby.”
I stiffened at his familiar use of my name.
He eased back in his chair. “I fulfilled my end of our bargain,” he said evenly. “I gave you the captain. Aren’t you grateful?”
“I didn’t want to kill him. Not like that.”
“‘Not like that,’” he imitated with a dismissive wave of his hand, his eyes sweeping my straight-backed figure. “You’re very finicky, Fireling. You wanted to kill him and now you have. That’s all that matters.”
“His wife was watching,” I said through numb lips. “His young daughter. And he told me the monks are dead. By your orders.”
His brows creased, his expression turning to intent speculation before it smoothed into his usual blank carelessness. “Ah. Well, perhaps I have forgotten.”
I wasn’t surprised that he had lost track of all the deaths—how could anyone remember so many?—but the casual way he had said the words stunned me.
Rasmus made a motion with his hand and a steward came forward, piling his plate with food. When the servant went to do the same for me, I put my hand over my plate and glared until he stepped away. The king regarded me for long moments with a heavy-lidded gaze, both of us silent and still.
He stood and grabbed my wrist in a biting grip. His cold skin burned into me more than fire ever could.